Chapter Text
Friday, January 7, 2011 - 8:25 pm
Taylor watched as water droplets rolled down the shower curtain. The water itself had long since grown cold, but a large part of her didn’t want to move at all. Leaving the shower, cold as it was, meant facing what was out there.
Still, she couldn’t hide from herself forever, even if she had been hiding from the world for almost a week now. She turned towards the beads of ice that had been pelting her back and twisted the dial closed. The shower now ended, Taylor was left with the patternless sound of water dripping from both the showerhead and her person.
Taking a moment to breathe—gather her thoughts, really—she pulled the shower curtain aside and added the raspy noise of metal hooks gliding against the shower bar to the room’s discordant music. She stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel from the rack nearby, noting it as the cloudy grey one she had used since childhood. It was well worn at this point but still serviceable. Her parents must’ve bought it with her future growth in mind considering how it hadn’t become small to her over the years, just average.
She toweled off the sheen of cold water covering her, leaving only gooseflesh behind as the frigid January weather penetrated the walls of her family’s aging home. Regardless of the chill though, her… hair still needed attention, so she wrapped the long locks up in the towel before securing it tightly to her head—not a strand fell out.
Turning her attention from where she had been resolutely focused on the towel rack in front of her, Taylor slowly shifted herself to stand directly before the mirror above the sink.
Unfortunately, as with every other time she had seen herself over the past week, it still felt wrong. Like there was a stranger walking around in her skin, except it didn’t even feel like hers anymore either.
She was less pale than she was before, but it felt too smooth, almost flawless. The pinkness now present felt just as unnatural, as if she were far healthier than her lifestyle of staying indoors and avoiding all human contact possible would suggest. Not to mention the muscles. They were nothing crazy, but it was a night and day change.
Where before she had been thin and bony with some undeveloped flab enveloping her midsection, her body had become lithe and filled out. Abdominal muscles were clearly present, if not as defined as magazines and comic books would suggest. When Taylor flexed an arm now, the muscle actually tightened and her bicep protruded slightly.
Her legs had suffered the same changes: healthy and well-proportioned, clear presence of muscle, and her ass had filled out from its bone-flat state. In fact, her whole figure felt more… feminine in a way it never had during the last four years of high school. She had even had to rummage through some boxes in the basement for some of her Mom’s old bras. The ones she had been wearing before had become too tight to hold her new, modest B-cups.
She hated it.
This wasn’t her body. This wasn’t her face. It wasn’t fucking her!
Taylor stared directly into her eyes—the only thing this goddamn curse had left untouched—and saw the echoes of her Mom within the deep brown tones. Eyes that were nestled within a face oh so close to her own, but still just wrong. Previously round and wide, the shape of her eyes seemed sharper than before—more focused. Her lips had gone from flat and thinly drawn to more proportionally balanced and soft, though they still seemed thinner than average.
It was as if her face had been molded like clay into a new form but still lingered on its original shape in trace ways… but that wasn’t even the worst part.
She reached over her head and undid the towel that had been so securely containing her hair. Pulling and tossing it away with a swift, frantic motion, Taylor unveiled the biggest reason she had kept herself cooped up for days on end: long, white hair.
It was still tangled and unkempt from being tied up in the towel, and it had the characteristic limpness of damp post-shower hair—none of that changed the main issue though. Her hair, the natural black curls she had inherited from her Mom, was gone. Replaced by printer paper white hair down to the root, with nary a curl nor wave in sight. Sure, the hair curved a bit towards her right side, but that wasn’t even close to what she had before.
Taylor had never considered herself particularly vain or conscious of her appearance; it was a different thing entirely to wake up after… after what had happened looking like this.
It had been a stroke of luck so far that Danny hadn’t noticed, but that wasn’t really surprising to her anymore. He never noticed anything with her, not her moods or health, not when she was continually pushed to the brink at school before the bullying periodically lessened, giving her just enough breathing room to keep going. The last time they had really spoken beyond a grunt in passing or being robotically told about anything coming in the mail for her had been, what, Christmas? If that.
By the time she left for school every day, Danny had already left for work, and he didn’t get back until well after school ended. To him, it was like there had been no change to the schedule that had become their new normal over the years. She didn’t know how long she could keep up the ruse of normalcy, but she would keep pushing that conversation down the road for as long as possible.
She shifted her focus back to the person in the mirror, thoughts turning back to her appearance. Taylor watched as the face in front of her shifted expressions, mirroring the ones she felt she was currently making.
Neutral. Happy. Sad. Angry. Disgusted. Upset. Afraid… Acceptance.
Just as her face shifted, so too did her feelings. Like it or not, she didn’t know of any way to go back to the way she used to look. She would have to… live with this body, this face.
Taylor ran a hand over her forehead, drawing the tangled hair away towards the back of her head. Sighing, she bent to pick up the towel from where she had carelessly tossed it earlier. Now wrapping it around her chest, she gave one last parting look to the person in the mirror—this ‘new’ Taylor. God, she didn’t think she would ever grow used to the sight.
She grabbed her glasses from the counter encircling the sink, shoving them onto her face. For the last year she had been using contacts for school or whenever else she left the house, glasses replacements were expensive after all, but she still kept a pair of glasses at home to wear.
Twisting the knob of the bathroom door now, Taylor prepared herself for the second most significant reason she had been staying home.
[Warning: Decrease detected in average bodily temperature. It is the recommendation of this unit that unit 1-]
“Taylor! My name… is Taylor.”
[-Taylor finds a solution to this problem quickly. Suggestion: find attire well suited for skin coverage and heat retention.]
“That was the general idea, yes. Now, will you float out of the middle of the doorway so I can go to my room and change?”
Rather than answer with its strange voice that seemed to echo from within her head, Taylor’s little partner silently floated out of the way—just like she asked. At least it seemed to follow her orders, most of the time. It had been slipping on referring to her by name, but hopefully it would finally get the hint that she wasn’t a damn number.
Either way, she was definitely starting to notice the chill now, the pajamas waiting for her on her bed were sounding more comfortable by the second. She walked down the hallway, rounding the corner and making for the slightly ajar door of her room. There was a feeling in the back of her mind, reminiscent of a single strand of hair brushing her cheek; she knew that her small, robotic companion had followed without even needing to look.
‘Pod 052’ had introduced itself when she awoke in her current state earlier this week. It hadn’t been more than fifteen feet from her side since. To be honest, it hadn’t really done much more than follow her around and give advice as she paced her room or occasionally went downstairs for food. The gunmetal grey box with arms had become a central fixture in her life—a constant companion—though it did have some color in the form of burnished gold bands around its upper arms and the small antenna coming out of the box that made up most of its body.
After what had happened… happened, it had only taken her a little while (and her first visit with a mirror) to realize that she had ‘lucked’ into powers. Some luck.
Inside her room, Taylor found her pajamas exactly where she left them on the edge of her bed. Plain white underwear, grey and white plaid flannel pants, and an old band T-shirt she found while searching through boxes of her Mom’s clothes in the basement. She hadn’t heard of ‘Bikini Kill’ before, but with the wear on the shirt it was probably something her Mom was into in the ‘90s. It was… nice, wearing her Mom’s old clothes. After five years, she really wanted to feel connected to her again, even if nothing would ever fill the gap she had left behind.
Taylor flopped backwards onto her bed, white hair splayed out beneath her. Pod 052—maybe she should just think of it as ‘Pod’?—floated into the corner of her vision of the ceiling.
“What the hell am I gonna do… Can’t go to school looking like this, can’t tell Danny or he’d call the PRT first thing; what do other capes do? Fight people? I’ve never gotten into a real fight before…”
She pressed her palms to her eyes, hoping on some level when she opened them again everything would just be normal. No more robot, no more new body, no more powers. She could just go back to school, stick out the rest of the semester, graduate, and then— and then… what? Her grades had gone to shit ever since Emma turned on her. Even the classes she didn’t share with those three hellions weren’t free from sabotage in the hallways or her locker. There was no way any decent colleges would accept her, so she’d probably end up flipping burgers or stocking shelves for the rest of her shitty life in this dead-end city.
Really, what options did she even have at this point?
[Query: Why is the prospect of combat a negative outcome?]
Taylor pulled her hands away from her face and narrowed her gaze at the inquisitive little robot. Was it not obvious why she might feel adverse to throwing down with Brockton Bay’s resident gallery of villains?
There were at least a dozen capes in the Empire Eighty Eight alone. Lung and his ABB held a significant chunk of the Docks, just a few blocks from where she lived. And even if you weren’t in either of those territories there had been a growing frequency of random assaults and robberies by small groups of robots—what the news had been calling ‘Machine Lifeforms’. Hell, even the small-time villains like Über and Leet would probably kick her ass.
“Because I’d probably die fighting the villains in this city? I don’t have any backing or reputation like the Protectorate or New Wave. If I started going out patrolling as a hero or whatever, I’d probably get shot by some gangster before I ever even see another cape.”
[Rebuttal: So it is better to do nothing for fear of personal harm than try to do anything at all? This unit exists to serve unit Taylor at rest and in the midst of combat.]
“Pfft, so, what? You’re saying I should go looking for villains and criminals to fight or whatever because you would have my back? I don’t even know what else my power can do yet…”
Surely there was more to it then a fucking body replacement and a floating robot butler, but for as much as the thought of accepting this power and exploring its limits conjured a feeling of revulsion and wrongness deep inside—acknowledging that she would never be normal again—there was another part of her that felt almost excited(?) at the idea.
[Answer: Yes. This unit and unit Taylor would be most efficiently utilized against other specialized units and combat-capable individuals.]
Was she really going to do this? Mask up and hit the town looking for trouble? Did she realistically have any better options ahead of her?
No. No, not really. So what if it was going to be dangerous? Brockton Bay was dangerous enough that she could die any day on the side of the street if she was at the wrong place at the wrong time. May as well do something with these damn powers, whatever they may be.
“Fine. Fine! We’ll go out and fight villains, but not without preparing first. I’m gonna need… an outfit. Yeah, some kind of costume. Something that works with whatever else my power does, without anyone being able to figure out who I am…”
Where do capes normally get their outfits made anyway? A lot of them seemed more complex than what one could throw together by shopping at the mall. She could probably search around on PHO. There was a good chance Danny was asleep with the TV on downstairs, and likely wouldn’t be coming up until the early hours of the morning.
Taylor pushed herself off of the bed, stretching her arms over her head and cracking her back for a moment. If nothing else, this body definitely felt… robust? Every action felt precise and coordinated; she was leaps and bounds beyond her former flexibility. She never got tired going up both flights of stairs from the basement to her room anymore. And earlier in the week, when she had knocked a glass off the kitchen counter, she had been able to reach over and catch it safely with little effort.
Maybe Pod’s idea wasn’t so crazy after all.
Saturday, January 8, 2011 - 2:35 pm
Foot tapping rapidly against the street beneath, Taylor felt an uneasy bolt of lightning bouncing through her as she watched the crowd in front of Parian start to disperse.
Last night she had gone down a rabbit hole on the computer in Mom’s old study. Starting with ‘where does New Wave get their outfits made’ and being disappointed to find that they kept that a secret, but the train of thought eventually brought her to a local rogue’s—Parian—PHO page and from there onto her personal website related to public appearances and containing contact info regarding commissioned work.
It was fortunate that Parian’s next promotional show on the boardwalk, still generically ‘festive’ with a cuddly polar bear and friendly-looking snowman puppets, was set for the next day. Taylor… still didn’t have a cell phone to make contact remotely, and she felt just wary enough to refrain from sending an email. So she went with the next best option: approaching Parian in person and hoping it all works out.
Pod was stuffed into a backpack slung over her shoulder, it had conveniently been able to fold itself up into a position for storage and transportation when asked. The rest of her was bundled up in a winter coat and jeans, with her hair extra secure behind a beanie underneath the coat’s hood. It was still as chilly as ever in the middle of winter, so she hardly looked out of place among the meandering crowds and midday shoppers of the Boardwalk.
While she was lost in thought, it looked like Parian had already started packing up for the day. The fabric of her puppets unraveling and storing itself within a large wheeled suitcase the cape had brought with her.
Taylor steeled herself, shoving away all the doubt she felt, all the nervousness held towards the imminent conversation. She took a cautious step forward.
And then another.
And another again.
Before she knew it, she was standing in front of Parian and being stared down by the blank porcelain face of the rogue’s mask. Up close, Taylor could see all the details of Parian’s costume: a long multi-layered skirt, poofy shoulders, lace and frills practically everywhere, even a small bonnet trying to contain the voluminous yellow ringlets framing the mask.
At this point though, the silence stretching between them was growing uncomfortable. What the hell was she supposed to say? It had been ages since she really talked to new people… fuck it.
“Uh— Nice show! I really liked the way it was so… wintry. Hey, you— you do commissions right? Clothes and stuff?”
In the silence that followed, Taylor could practically see Parian’s eyes—however they may look—blinking underneath the still surface of the mask. Was her question so outlandish? Maybe this was stupid, she could just hodgepodge a costume from thrift stores and old clothes in the basement—
“Yes, that is a service I provide. Were you looking to have an outfit made? You’ll have to make an appointment via phone or email.”
Damnit, maybe she should’ve emailed after all. But she was here now, Parian was right in front of her. Should she just go for it? It’s not like the cape knew who she was, and with the winter clothes and her most striking features concealed, any description she could give anyone would be too vague to find Taylor. Just go for it, if she couldn’t do this then she had no business even trying to become a cape in the first place—powers or no.
Taylor stepped closer to Parian, likely discomforting the rogue with the way she seemed to tense up at Taylor’s intrusion. Regardless, she craned her head down a little, shoulders level with the top of Parian’s head, and spoke in a quiet voice. Louder than a whisper, to be heard despite the din of the crowd, but still soft enough to keep the words between her and Parian.
“…It’s cape-related. I didn’t want to leave a digital trail…”
She pulled away from Parian then, returning the distance between them to what it had been moments before. The cape seemed still now, as frozen as the sheets of snow decorating Brockton Bay’s rooftops currently.
Was this a mistake? Had she already screwed everything up before she could even get started? Oh, Parian was speaking again.
“Well… I’ve certainly never been approached about something like that before; you’re quite new to this, aren’t you?”
“Is it that obvious?”
A soft chuckle emanated from behind the porcelain mask. Maybe this was going well? Maybe Taylor hadn’t fucked up?
“This isn’t the best venue for this discussion,” a glance at the crowds of people enjoying their afternoon on the Boardwalk certainly supported the idea, “do you have a piece of paper?”
Taylor felt her eyes widen. Of course, Parian would want to write down some secret contact info or something. Did she have anything in her coat pockets? She barely wore the thing anymore.
Shoving her hands frantically into said pockets, she was surprised to find that her right pocket actually had something inside. Pulling out the small object, Taylor quickly learned what it was: a folded bookmark. She hadn’t seen this in… well, years.
It was one of those tacky bookmarks you got for free at a Scholastic Book Fair. One side was blank, but the other depicted a roaring red dragon with the text, ‘Find Your Adventure! Read!’ Cute.
Ah, but there was Parian, still waiting on her daydreaming ass. Taylor held out the well-folded bookmark for the doll cape. While she was searching for paper, it seemed Parian had produced a pen from somewhere within the frills and folds of her costume.
Quickly scrawling something onto the blank side of the bookmark, Parian handed it back with haste.
“Here. Come to this address at 7:00 pm—sharp. We can discuss things further there.”
Taylor barely glanced at the bookmark before shoving it back into her coat pocket. She had already been standing up next to the cape for an extended time, if they kept on speaking someone might take notice and get suspicious. And attention was the last thing Taylor needed right now.
“Thank you, seriously.”
“You’re welcome, now, I must be going. Whether we meet again or not is up to you,” Parian’s voice raised from its lower, conversational tone, “Thank you for coming out to see me! I’m glad you enjoyed the show!”
…And now she looked like a nervous, overeager fangirl. Great.
She understood why the appearance of nothing strange occurring between them had to be maintained, but it did nothing to dispel what felt like a thousand eyes burning into her back. It wasn’t enough to feel it every day at school, even when people were avoiding her like the plague. She hated that it was a feeling she couldn’t escape every time she intruded into a public space like this.
She— she had to go. Just somewhere else, home preferably, but being out of the middle of the Boardwalk would be a start.
As she speedwalked her way into one of the safer alleyways leading out of the boardwalk, intent on a bus stop she knew of nearby, Taylor couldn’t help but hear a familiar monotone voice from the same place it always came.
[Mission Success.]
From a certain point of view, she figured that it was.